Jeff Knows
by TheEyeOfThePheonix
Summary: Only he knows about my past, i have never told another living soul. I don't want to burden anyone with it, so instead i shall write it down. If you ever find this, i am sorry to have to burden you with this aswell. Later chapters will be alot more darker- So ratings in chapters
1. Chapter 1

AN: another one god I must be on a roll, I think it's like five days and everyday I uploaded! Anyway this story was another past midnight write up. This chapter is kind of an Introduction in a way, telling you why harry is telling you in this way. This quote will mean that by Harry eventually telling, he could be freer from his burdens, R&R please..

Disclaimer: I don't own Tracy Beaker (none of the shows attached to this format)

Jeff Knows

**_Past Life Spell_**  
Remove the chains of time and space  
And make my spirit soar  
Let these mortal arms embrace  
The life that haunts before- not known link on profile

Chapter 1

I've never been able to tell, I didn't want to burden anyone with it. But I've found a way to tell of it. I'm not really telling anyone, not really. I figured I could write it down, and then no one can really see it.

I mean, they could try and search for it but I don't think anyone would really be able to find it, not where I've hidden it anyway.

Its okay where I've hidden it, I trust him.

Jeff knows, only he does although Mike and Gina probably have some idea but not the full story. They did try to ask me once but I just sat there with my arms crossed. Not telling.

I hid it in the one place no one would think to look; I've hidden it in Jeff. I poked a hole in his leg, rolled up this paper into a tube and stuck it in the hole, like he's now got a bone in his leg. I stopped up the miniscule hole with yellow blu tack. Now, if Sapphire was still here then she'd spot it and want to stitch it up for me, but she's not. So I know no one will find it but if somehow you do find this, then I will have to burden you with this, I'm sorry…

~HarryWynterMiller

AN: I know Wynter isn't one of Harry's real last names but, oh well I like it.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: First off, thanks to Linneagb I was able to get this chapter up. (The FF site explanation of new chapters stumped me.). This chapter is seriously darker, but thankfully Dark stuff is more my forte. And no quote for this chapter as The Past Life Spell is included in all the chapters. Includes abuse and minor swearing. Anyway, R&R please.

Disclaimer: I don't own Tracy Beaker or any of its spinoffs.

**Rating:T**

_Child abuse casts a shadow the length of a lifetime_- Herbert Ward  
_And they will never forget, no matter how much they try_- Own

Jeff Knows- Chapter 2

Okay, so here it goes my first memory. I was 4, some can remember before this, but I think I tend to block out stuff. The one I remember the least, though I think it should be burned into memory, like it was burned into me...

... I was hungry, I can remember that for sure, and I knew I should not have asked but my stomach felt all blistery, I hadn't eaten for what felt like forever. I stood up and felt dizzy from the smell of new and stale smoke that had protruded from those white sticks, cigarettes. I walked over to him, there wasn't anything special about him, he was short, had a bit of fat around his waist, he shouldn't really have scared me but he did. And I asked and he then shouted "What!" in almost disgust, like I had no right to ask for such a small thing. He narrowed his eyes at me and I looked at my feet. "Yeah, that's right, you useless shit!" he spat at me, literally. I felt it slide down my neck and immediately wanted to puke. But then again, nothing would come out, would it? I walked out of the room.

later, I was still hungry and I knew it was a stupid idea but you couldn't really blame me, if you had had nothing to eat for more than three days, then you would be starving, malnourished even.  
… So I had crept into the kitchen, old and dated it was, the cupboards and fridge were padlocked, paranoid much? But I knew that they kept their best biscuits on top of the cupboards, so they could find them quickly and because I couldn't reach them. So I dragged a chair over to them and climbed. I grazed my knee on the edge of the counter, pain seared through me but I didn't stop. I reached out, fumbling for the tin, when I heard the front door open. He was back. I smelt the smoke as the wind swept it in, it howled threatingly. I reached more, I was desperate, my muscles straining. Footsteps. The bash of a door against solid walls. I got them! The packet was in my hand as I started to hurry back down to earth.  
I was too slow (I should have jumped and ran for it) for the door opened and he spotted me, I was half on, half off the worktop. He walked over, trying to level his scary imitating appearance which almost always graced his features. And then hurled me off of it, I crashed down onto the cold hard floor, now my muscles really hurt (not that I had any, more puppy fat it was). My head collided with the concrete with a sickening crack, but that was nothing compared to the ordeal that was about to befall me.  
A searing pain, I remember it being hot, extremely hot, almost scalding. I remember smelling burnt stuff, like an animal on fire and its corpse slowly disintegrating to nothingness. But then I remembered no one else was hurting because it was me. That thin white cigarette that seemed so small a minute ago was now inflicting unimaginable pain on me, like the worst a bully could do, but even more.  
That prick was holding a cigarette against my bare leg. Those little white blood cells had no idea what had hit it, they could never reach the wound quick enough, it could never have been prepared.  
I remember hearing a scream, like death itself was screaming bloody murder; I remember a hand being clamped over my mouth. Its fingers digging through my mouth, it felt like I was choking. It was to stop me screaming, to stop me breathing. Then I remember darkness overtaking me…

-I'm sorry to burden you with this

~HarryWynterMiller


	3. Chapter 3

AN: *hides behind invisible wall* I'm soo sorry for the long wait and to make up for it, here's a longer chapter. This story will indefinitely continue to god knows when, when I run out of ideas. But I could do with some help for future chapters – drop me a line and give me some ideas. Part of this chapter is inspired by Harry believing that there is no magic in e11. Longest chapter so far! Anyway, R&R please!

Disclaimer: I don't own Tracy Beaker or any of its spinoffs.  
Rated: T  
Warning: swearing and abuse.

Am I more than you bargained for yet?  
I've been dying to tell you anything you want to hear  
Cause that's just who I am this week  
― Fall Out Boy

Jeff Knows Chapter 3

…I remember waking up, still lying on the cold, dirty floor. The smell of piss contaminating my nostrils; the smell was me, I'd pissed myself my. Because I wasn't fully potty trained, I didn't wear nappies – I hadn't for maybe, I don't know, I can't remember. But I'm sure they'd stopped buying them as soon as possible so they could afford to spend that money on drugs and booze.

I decided to keep myself to myself for a while.

Nursery should have been my escape but I never attended a nursery, our local one was called Pokesmere nursery with these apple trees set in the grounds. I never had any friends, never had any one to tell that they were being mean to me. To say our home was pig heaven, dirty and unsuitable.  
I always had a hacking cough – it wasn't a whooping cough, I had a cough because of the mould that infested through my room. My room was so little that it could almost be classed as a cupboard – claustrophobic and unhealthy. It had these little poky windows that I couldn't reach; I was really short for my age, considering I didn't have much food to grow from. It always felt as if I was being choked, being suffo…that.

I was locked in for four days, I was going mad, I swear it, I'm adamant that I could see these weird clowns in the darkest corners of my room – horrifying, evil bloodthirsty clowns with knives in their hands. I wished for magic – so I could blast them away with in a blazing fire and then break the door down with a whirlwind - it would help me escape. But…magic never came – I wasn't strong enough to wield such a power, if there was any magic in the world then I wasn't worthy enough, didn't deserve it.  
I had practically broken my whole body whilst trying to shove the door of its hinges – well it felt like I had. I had a horrible migraine – I still get them, they make me want to die – I had gotten immensely paranoid and had banged my head against the wall. It felt good, making me forget my plight for a while and then it would come back with a vengeance. Screaming at me and then I'd start to force the door, starting a vicious cycle that seemed to go on forever.  
My knuckles and feet were badly swollen, you have no idea how many times I'd punched and kicked anything and everything in my way. My throat was hoarse from screaming, though I knew no one would ever hear – they never did.  
I'd tried to break into the chimney to no avail, the plaster boards which covered it were stuck fast.  
My big toe was definitely broke, I heard it crunch on the corner of my bed, it was nice. Really.  
I thought about picking the lock – I've seen it when they break into places, it looks pretty easy to be honest. Plus it would be a good life skill to learn.

Another day passed and I decided, fuck it. I will break out. Be a rebel, but I will have a cause. I found a hair clip in my room, which quite frankly was weird as I'm a boy but hey, who was I to question when it meant I would get out. It was literally the key to my escape.  
I dug the slim black instrument into the keyhole. It was a Yale lock. And I started to twist it. 5 attempts later and I was tempted to jack it in, I'll be fine, they'll be back soon – that had been my mentality when I wasn't paranoid. But then I'd smack myself upside the face and tell myself to stop being stupid, they wont be back for ages. Maybe forever. It haunted me every time I was left locked in for days on end; I knew it was a possibility and that thought struck me so I jumped back to it.  
My feet stung as I kicked the stupid prick of a door as it wouldn't open. One more try and if you don't open I will kill you! I shrieked at it. I twisted it and…it clicked. I pushed the door open and fell to my knees on the wooden floor of the hallway. I limped across as fast as I could to the bathroom, flung the window open, breathing in fresh air, it filled my lungs and I could breath for once without having the fear of coughing and choking. I ran the taps, splashing water over my face and then drinking the pure water. The water glided down my rough throat, slowly loosening the feeling of being gripped tightly in my throat. I went for a proper toilet on an actual toilet; it was heaven. I went in search of food; but I promised myself to keep upstairs, they could come back anytime. I wasn't going to risk it for a chocolate biscuit, no way Jose. I found a boiled sweet under their bed and sucked on it. Then I found a few old crumbly digestives on the floor next to the bin, I really didn't want to take them but I felt I had no choice – I was starving and even if it would make me seem a tramp I would take them. I hid them in my room along with a few bottles of tap water – my provisions. They were hid in the loose floorboard which was under my solitary mattress, soiled to death. I lay back down, an extra blanket covered me.

I don't know what time it was but I was jerked awake when a hand grabbed me roughly up, the smell of smoke encased them. They were back. I could see their badly sun-tanned skin; they had obviously been on holiday. Almost definitely, their bags would be full of cheap Turkish or Chinese tobacco. He dragged me along the floor, my feet hitting of all the little gaps in the floor. I banged into the door and banister as I passed through the bathroom door. What the hell are they doing, was my thought at that particular time along with a silent deafening scream. My migraine had flared up and my silent screaming was killing my head. I felt my head squeeze through a hole and saw dull whiteness surround me. My head came into contact with cold water, it smelt weird, a mixture of poo and pee. I was in the toilet! They were adults – she was supposed to be my parent, he was not my father – but they were acting like vicious school yard bullies. They were giving me a swirly, flushing my head down the loo – I wish the toilet would just swallow me whole and chuck me out to sea. But it didn't, it just half drowned me, I didn't scream if I did I would surely drown.  
They changed tactics a filled the sink with white steaming hot water. I tried to back away, I kicked, I punched them but they just held my hands behind my back and forced my head into the sink. It was boiling, like shaking with hypothermia but that hypothermia was scalding hot rather than freezing cold. The pain was unimaginable; it felt as if my skin was burning off, my bones slowly boiling my insides. I did scream this time and started to choke, my head bobbing up and down. I tried to gargle out the word sorry – though I don't know what I was sorry for, they should be sorry. That sorry came out like I was squeaking. He pulled out my head and I gasped for breath, it felt like I was half on, half off a ledge and I was trying to reach for something to pull me up. I didn't have time to try and reach out as they forced me to my knees. "Kiss my feet!" he commanded me. What? I screamed in my head, killing it again. "Go on, you know you want to…you don't have a choice, do it or I'll do it again." He motioned lighting a cigarette, any hint of sweetness in his voice was replaced with malice. I closed my eyes, choking on saliva as I lent over my knees, his feet stunk. My childish rough lips met his flaky feet, yellowed like cheese. I heard him laugh, I heard her laugh, she was sat on the bath, smoking. It filled my nostrils, making me feel light-headed. I like smoke – although the smell hangs in the air, like reminding you that they could hang you any time they wanted. Smoking was good, it made you feel like floating, like banging your head; it could make you forget stuff, forget pain.  
He pulled his foot back and kicked me, knocking my nose out of place, I fell back under the sink, banging my head on the pipe, and it didn't hurt. "Get on your knees, say you're sorry, and beg for forgiveness!" I did as I was told although I wore a puzzled look, what was I to beg for. "Don't give me that," he kicked me, it hurt but I held my ground. ", you broke out of the room, you opened the window making it cold, you used up water…now beg!" I closed my eyes; I didn't want to say sorry. "It's your fault boy; you know it now say sorry." I knew I'd done wrong, in a way. I had been bad, they'd told me to stay in the room and I didn't obey. Sorry, I said really quiet. "What?" he asked, kicking me again, twice. Sorry, I shouted. He smiled, evilly. My supposed mother laughed. "Ah damn, where's my ashtray?" This was the first time she had spoken in this confrontation. She said it in this fake ditzy accent – we were half Ukranian, quarter Irish and quarter Australian. She was smiling, it was laced with malice. Oh look, she's bringing it towards my arm. I try to squirm away, try to crawl through his legs. It didn't work, he kicks me and shouts at me, holds me down. She brings the white flamethrower into contact with my leg, it burns again, sears my skin again.  
All these cigarette pockmarks on my legs are like a dot to dot, you could draw a knife on it, bombs and guns. If a psychological person could hear this, they'd analyze it and say that I wanted to kill them and I do but I'm just a little kid, I can't do anything. I lay limp on the floor and he deliberately stands on my legs, tears threaten to fall down my face, but I won't let them – I won't be weak. But I do, a tear escapes and cascades down my face, giving me away for the baby I am. "Aw, little baby, aw did the big man hurt you…good." He mocked me in a baby voice; he'd came down to my level. I lurched forward scratching at his face. He hit me away but I still continued to attack – I was angry, mad, maniacal - They'd kill me, I knew that much. And they practically did. He grabbed a metal toilet roll holder and hit me in the stomach with it, whacked my legs – dropping me to the floor - hitting me on the head and then dragging me to my room. They chucked me against the wall and slammed the door shut.  
I screamed and screamed as I saw the clowns resurface, knives flashing at me. I tried to beat them away but in the end they won. I fell into a fitful sleep, feeling that knives were poking in to me.  
-I'm sorry to burden you with this

~HarryWynterMiller


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Back again, I'm running thin on the ground for ideas – so please help me out, suggest some things that could happen to poor Harry. This idea came from nowhere, I was just finishing up a chapter for another TSOTB fic and this sprung to mind. Sorry, but it's shorter chapter. Anyway, R&R please!

Disclaimer: I don't own Tracy Beaker or any of its spinoffs.

I never set out to be weird.  
It was always other people who called me weird.  
- Frank Zappa

Jeff Knows Chapter 4

Christmas is a weird concept to me – I now love it like other kids do, but before I was put into care, we never really celebrated Christmas. Or if we did I was never told about it – geez, I wasn't even sure when my birthday was. Sad, isn't it? To me it isn't, not really, that's why I always find it weird when people give me presents – I don't want to accept them but then I know I would look ungrateful. And I know if you're ungrateful for being given even only a slice of bread then you are punished – so I dutifully accept them.  
Jeff, my giraffe wasn't really a present – when I came to Elm Tree House or as we call it The Dumping Ground, I didn't have any toys or teddies with me. Mike had said to me that I could choose some toys from the ex-residents box. It was a dumping ground for stuff left behind (or abandoned) by ex care kids or stuff that was lost. I liked it – it was like me – I was lost. So I picked up 3 things. Jeff, a little car and a blanket. Mike said that blankets and stuff were already provided but I was insistent on keeping it – what if I only got a thin blanket for my bed – I would definitely need it then.  
Now I know when Christmas is, I think I can remember one from when I was 5. I remember sitting on the stairs, peering through the banisters into the living room – they were eating some chocolates and drinking some beers, bearing in mind it was only about 8am! I remember the gauzy green wrapping paper, the smell of cinnamon twists hidden between each layer of paper; I loved and loathed that smell. I remember an antique pipe being pulled from one of the packages and a Zippo lighter as well. I remember feeling like I wanted to roll my eyes – when I remember this, I do that now – trust them to buy stuff that they would need the next day – this saved money for more booze.  
I remember the soft lull of Celtic rock music blazing away on the speakers – for once the music didn't kill your head. The curtains were still shut, like always – I'm surprised people still think people live here – we must seem like hermits – but then again we do get complaints all the time about music being too loud. My mother and her partner always used to swear at them and hurl abuse at the neighbours until they retreated. It's a miracle we hadn't been kicked out of there yet.  
I looked away as they started to make out and then heard them moan about something – it was too late when I realised what she had moaned about – she had spotted me. He came rushing out saying stuff like 'you dirty little pig' 'you are so going to get it you little fuck' He punched me and I slipped a little further down the stairs, he laughed and kicked me again. This time I did fall, all the way down the stairs. The steps digging into my body and my head canning. That quiet music now seemed like a thunderstorm inside my head – I wanted to run. So I did, I got to the door and opened it, my first outing into the real world ( I could see only bleakness, the grass was a dull grey and the sky, a deep red)– it was short, he grabbed me by the scruff of the collar and pulled me back, telling a neighbour to 'bloody well mind their own business' and flipping them off in the proccess. I tried to break his hold on me but he just dug his nails in further, he chucked me down at the bottom of the stairs, my head colliding with the bottom concrete step, its sound curdling my blood. He kicked me, urging me up the stairs, and I went as fast as I could, but it wasn't quick enough as he kicked me again, hindering my speed. I finally reached the top and dragged myself into my room, he kicked me to the ground and spat on me calling me a 'dirty little bastard' and it was true I was a bastard, I'd never once met my father and I never probably will, sad isn't it.  
My first memory of Christmas – would you like it?

I'm sorry to burden you with this

~HarryWynterMiller


	5. The Bunny Snatcher

AN: Firstly, I must thank doctorrwhofan4eva for this idea, so thank you! And I still need some more ideas so keep suggestions coming in. So it's an Easter chapter, though it's only about 1000 words, i think – I could of continued but that would only be dragging it on. Anyway, R&R please!

Disclaimer: I don't own Tracy Beaker or any of its spinoffs

Rated: T – though there is a dark theme hinted at in this chapter.

Jeff Knows Chapter 5 The Bunny Snatcher

Easter – the past time of eating chocolate, chasing the Easter bunny – tackling him to the floor- all of these now depict Easter for me, but it wasn't always like that.  
A few Easter's ago, when I was nearing my 6th birthday, I remember when they all ganged up on me. Now if you're surrounded by people and they're all angry, it's generally quite scary, and it was but not too much – I guess you build up a resistance to pain, to fear when you've faced it so many times.  
I remember that for some reason, when I woke, the house was extremely quiet. And this sometimes wasn't weird for it to be quiet, but when its like, 7am, it's never quiet, they generally don't seem to sleep in. I liked it, though it scared me, because they could be getting high right now, or they could still be out after pulling an all-nighter…it was the latter.  
I heard the door bang against the wall, the unmistakable slurred voices of me mum and her boyfriend, their friend's voices joined them as they noisily made their way to the various rooms downstairs. These times – they were horrible, no matter how much I nearly suffocated myself from piling pillows and blankets over my ears I could still hear all the moaning, the creaking of the floors – it was always horrible. And then that smell fills your nose and by now you've got used to it and you start to inhale it and you can't because the smoke has spread out too thinly by now, you creep down the stairs, that noise in your head now being dulled out by the quiet indie music – setting the mood – as some would call it. You sit under the stairs, hidden behind the shoe rack. And them you set your head against the wall and inhale the smoke. Your head feels a little bit dizzy – though you don't mind- your senses feel dulled, and you can't hear much. Can't think, and you like that. But then, I can't hear properly so I don't hear them coming after I've laughed at, Kilko – I think that's his name – he tripped up and fell flat on his face, so I don't hear him come but I know when he's here, he grabs my arm and pulls, my body slamming against the shoe rack. I see that his flies are undone – the dirty bugger – he'd just left Debs and gone to the toilet – though he hadn't washed his hands. I cringed in his grip, now potentially my sanitary levels, or at least this house's sanitary levels are pretty much non-existent. They don't clean the house really, and I'm pretty sure there are pee stains all over the bathroom, sick stains everywhere. Would you really like to grow up here? I don't think so.  
So he's got me in his grip, he pulls me through to the living room and I hear me mum shout at him as he climbs off of her, I want to be sick – this has now scarred me for the rest of my life – He, Prodder (I get his nickname now – which really makes me sick whenever I think of it), me mum's boyfriend asks what I've done now, which I don't think I've done too much to get in trouble for, but then again they are so high that anything little probably seems massive to them. Prod says to 'clap him 'round the head' and that's what Kilko does, he hits me, his sovereign ring colliding with my eye, I squint, my eyes becoming blurred with tears – I wont let them fall – they laugh and his on – off girlfriend comes and kicks me from behind. I here MCjagger, I really don't know why they call him that, hollers some indistinguishable words. Then he pushes me to the floor, and though I'm scared I'm not surprised, I'm always horrified they could do such a thing – could allow such a thing…I cry silently….Bang Bang…could it possibly be...no it can't…can it?  
I hope for the police or one of those people who can take you away from you're horrible family…  
…But it isn't, it's just a neighbour telling them to be quiet or they'll set the police on them – I wish for them to do so, but they don't, they leave to go home – to eat chocolate to play games with their families. Kilko gets bored and starts to eat a Crème Egg, Debs joins him and sits on his leg, caressing his face, I really want to be sick.

Prodder grabs me by my hair and drags me to the cellar, he opens a green door and shoves me into a cupboard, like a linen cupboard, except I can just about fit in with my legs pulled up to my knees – they are horrible I know that – yet I knew then I'd never escape.  
Easter to me, is a horrible time to remember – so I try not to – I just gorge myself on chocolate in a bid to forget and then after, I'm really sick – I guess, in a way, making up for all of those times when I wanted to be sick.

I'm sorry to burden you with this

~HarryWynterMiller


End file.
